


With stardust embedded in our skin

by Dylanobrienisbatman



Series: Becho [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 15th Century, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, First Kiss, First Meetings, Inspired by Romeo and Juliet, Mild Smut, More tags to be added as the chapters come, True Love, Witch Hunts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-10-08 15:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17389256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dylanobrienisbatman/pseuds/Dylanobrienisbatman
Summary: Soulmates were not something of myth or of legend, but they were not ordinary. Everyone knew that they existed, and it was easy to dream of the day you might first meet yours, that your skin might shine bright silver at the touch of a beautiful stranger. Your mark appears when they first touch you, and when you are reincarnated, the spots where you were marked in your past lives are dark birthmarks until you touch again.Echo and Bellamy are soulmates, tied together through time, through space, through fate. They meet, in each life, strangers to each other. But fate always lets them know that they were made for each other. Through tragedy, through time, they find each other again and again. Will true love and the will of the cosmos give them the joyful ending they deserve?





	1. And thus, with a kiss, I die

Soulmates were not something of myth or of legend, but they were not ordinary. Everyone knew that they existed, and it was easy to dream of the day you might first meet yours, that your skin might shine bright silver at the touch of a beautiful stranger, or that you might one day brush arms with your good friend and realise your skin had never touched theirs as your arm shone bright. It was easy to imagine those things.

Her father had died before she was born, to a poor woman, now widowed. She was given to the noble family of Azgeda, only weeks after her birth, to be raised to be a match for their son. She came from noble blood, from her father, and his transgression with her mother could not stain their family. So, they lied.

She grew up very lonely, so she found herself dreaming of soulmates often. She wondered who they would be. Sometimes she’d catch herself intentionally brushing her fingers against the pretty blonde shop keepers when she passed her the bread, hoping maybe she could escape.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Roan…. Well actually that was sort of it.

He was fine. Strong. Handsome. Brave. But he was cold, and had no interest in her at all. She was a pawn in his mother’s game for him and he knew it, and he resented her for it.

So, she brushed fingers with the guard who held the door for her, and imagined a world where he whisked her away.

She wasn’t meant to be learning to sword fight. It wasn’t proper for young Venetian ladies to been seen waving a sword about. She was meant to learn to dance, prim and sophisticated, her back straight and her head high.

But she had always been rather sneaky.

She had started at an early age, sneaking out from under the watchful eye of her many nurses to hide away in corners and watch the sword fighting lessons Roan was given, along with his friends. She practiced in the night, her umbrella used as a substitute, practicing her footwork, just like she’d seen.

Echo was nothing if not a quick learner.

The dance master who trained her quickly realised that her feet were not made for dancing, and though she continued dance training for the watchful eye of Lady Nia, she was introduced to Ontari, a female swordsman in the city. She was rumoured to duel knights dressed in men’s armour, and come away with their heads. She was ruthless, and cruel, but Echo soaked up every lesson that Ontari threw at her.

Turns out it was going to come in handy.

Nia was throwing an engagement party, for her and Roan were to be wed soon, and all of Venice was invited. The city had been buzzing for weeks, and girls she had never spoken to had begged her for invitations, but she felt trapped. There was no way out of this marriage, there never had been, but the closer it got the more she felt like it was a cloth being stuffed into her mouth, gagging her and keeping her silent. The night of the party came, and the city was alive in a way that she hadn’t felt for years, probably since the last Venetian cardinal had been chosen to become the pope.

Her limbs felt like lead. The wedding wasn’t for weeks, but this party felt like the beginning of the end. She heard Roan yelling from the down the hall, and for some reason it gave her some small comfort that he didn’t seem too pleased with the arrangement either. Maybe they could just be miserable in close proximity, and that would be enough.

Her nurse, Kida, yanked her corset tighter, pressing any last breath left in her lungs up out of her body and into the warm summer air, and pulled a soft silk dress down over her. It was a light pink dress, sprinkled with giant blue embroidered flowers, with a cinched waist, and she fiddled with the hem on the sleeves as her nurse pulled her hair back into a soft braid that fell around her shoulder. She situated the last little piece of jewellery in her hair, and turned her around to admire her work, turning her into someone who could easily pass as a sophisticated woman, and left her without a word.

She flopped down on her bed, knowing full well it would wrinkle her clothes, and sighed heavily. She had just sunk fully into the blankets when a noise crashed at her window. She shot up from her bed, reaching wildly for the sword she kept hidden behind the armoire, and had it out of its sheath and held comfortably in her hand when a man crawled through her window, landing not so gracefully in her bedroom floor.

“I’d crawl right back out if I were you, I know how to use this.” She said, calmly, but with fire behind her words.

He stood up straight and she got a full look at him.

Tall, with soft brown curls that fell down below his chin, brushing the rough stubble that seemed to grow there. His skin was warm and brown, with dark freckles flecked across all the exposed skin she could find, and soft brown eyes that looked amused rather than intimidated.

He leaned his shoulder against her window frame, straightening his white shirt, with billowing sleeves.

“Is this your party tonight?” He asked, and she scoffed.

“You just broke into my house!”

“And yet, you haven’t stabbed me through yet. Looks like we’re at some kind of impasse, miss….?”

“Lady. Lady Echo.”

“Of the Azgeda family?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, you’re the princess, then.”

“I’m sorry?” Her sword was still pointed at his throat, and he still seemed unbothered, but she held it steady anyway.

“The princess promised to the favourite son. I’ve heard of you, Princess.”

“You have no idea what you’re talk-“

“It doesn’t matter. I just need you to get me into the party.”

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because I have someone I need to kill, and if you don’t help me, I’ll just have to find another way.”

“And did I somehow give you the impression, stranger, that I was in the business of helping murderers?”

“I’m not a murderer yet.”

She glowered at him, and his bravado faltered, just a touch. She lowered her sword, but kept a tight hold on the hilt.

“Your name, would be murderer?”

“Bellamy. Bellamy Blake.”

“I know your family, you own the book shop.”

“Yes, we do.”

“I love it there.” She whispered, and as it came out, she realised she didn’t really mean to say that out loud.

He smiled, different from the self-important smirk that had before. Softer. She bit into her cheeks to keep from doing the same.

“And who, pray tell, are you killing?”

“Thelonious Jaha.”

She faltered a little in their game.

“What?”

“Jaha.” He repeated, as if she hadn’t heard him. “I want to kill the King of Venice.”

She stood, staring at him, silence the only thing she could manage. He didn’t move from where he was leaned against her window, but his face remained stone still.

“Can you tell me why?”

“He is planning to kill my sister.”

“Kill her?”

“Execute her. He found her stealing, just bread and cheese, but he intends to make an example out of her.”

“And killing him will help?”

“I made a deal. Kill Jaha, my sister is free.”

“And you think whatever secretive character made this deal is going to hold up their end?”

“No. But I have no other options.”

She found no lack of sincerity in his eyes. He meant every word.

And she knew exactly where Jaha was going to be tonight.

“Well, no one will believe you belong at this party in that outfit.” She teased, and his sigh of relief was audible.

She led him down the hall, quietly, to Roan’s empty room. Roan was broader than Bellamy, but about the same height, and she could make it work. She fished a dark blue shirt out of his closet, to match Bellamy’s black pants, and a heavy shoulder covering with jewels sewn into the tough fabric.

“This piece of fabric costs more than my house.” He whispered delicately while she laid things out on the bed for him to put on.

“Take it, he’ll never notice. Nia had it made for him for his birthday 5 years ago and he hasn’t ever worn it since. He won’t even notice you’re wearing it.”

He brushed his fingers over the jewels, lost in thought.

“I’ll just… wait outside for you?” She asked, but he wasn’t listening.

He was running his hands over the shirt now, a fine silk shirt made for Roan by a silk merchant in the city. She looked closer at his clothes, and saw them more clearly.

The hems of his shirt were tattered, ripped and frayed like they had been long over worn. The pants he wore were held together at the buckle by thick leather straps, sewn on by what looked like an experience seamstress, but clearly an addition to pants that were no longer big enough to be worn by their owner. His shoes were scuffed, and not just from the climb up. The soles were peeling away at the edges, like they may not last through the winter.

She wondered if he had ever seen such finery.

She wondered what he thought of her, in her silk dressed and jewelled hair.

She wondered why she cared.

He lifted the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head, and she turned after a long glance at his back, muscles pulling under his skin, taught and strong.

She shook the image from her mind, but she couldn’t shake the warm rush into her cheeks.

He stepped out not long after, the blue shirt fitting him well, if the shoulders hung a bit long on him.

She pulled a masque from the pile Nia had left for guests whose masques did not fit her requirements, passing it over to him.

“Just tie this up around your eyes, and we can go.”

“Sure.” he whispered, pausing at the site of her. “Your dress is lovely, Lady Echo.”

“Princess is fine.” She teased, and he laughed, a genuine chuckle, that for some reason made her beam with pride. “But really, Echo. Please.” He smiled, a soft look in his eyes.

“You know, I’ve never met a woman quite like you.”

“I’d like to think there aren’t many.”

He smiled, and walked down the steps in front of her, turning his head back to find her still at the top of the stairs. He extended a hand, offering it to her. She grinned, and reached out, resting the tips of her fingers in his hand.

And it happened.

The way she had always imagined it would.

Her fingers started to tingle first, a warm feeling running up from the pads of her fingertips into her arm, and as she looked down, the light was almost blinding.

Everyone always said that. That the light was blinding at first. Like it was ripping the silver out of their skin. Blinding until it settled into their skin.

And she and Bellamy watched together as the fables were proven true.

The light lessened and lessened, until it was like it had become one with their skin. Finger tips, shimmering, bright. The inside of his palm, where her fingers had pressed into his skin, left marks in the shapes of her there.

He was staring at their hands.

She was staring at his face.

His eyes. Warm, and kind.

His skin, brown and flecked with stardust freckles.

His heart, that she could see, straight through the flesh and the ribs that bound it.

A good heart. She just… knew.

He looked up, his eyes meeting hers as she travelled down his cheekbones and over his nose like an explorer, searching, lusting, hoping, wishing for more.

“A princess… Who would have thought?” He whispered, a smile teasing across his lips.

“You don’t… You don’t have too.”

“Have too?”

“Thelonious.”

“Oh.”

“I mean… I’ll help you. If you need to. But we can get her out together. We can flee this place, we don’t…. You and me. We could.”

“I don’t think we could. Could you really… Would you really run from all of this?” He asked.

“This… I never wanted this. I was born into it. I was… given to them.”

“Given?”

“You don’t know the true story?”

“No?”

“My father, a noble born Azgeda man, he… loved a woman, a poor woman. She was a seamstress at the place his mother used to get her clothes hemmed. They fell in love, but he died, and she… was a poor widow, with nothing. So, when his family came looking, they offered her money, and a title in Florence, to give me to Nia and leave.” She had never told anyone that. That her mother’s love for her was so slight that it could be bought. “So, she did. And I was promised to Roan, to keep his marriage noble enough, and… here I am.”

“My mother had another child, after her husband left her. My father, he left. They were still married but he left anyway. And she… had a daughter. Almost 4 years later. He hadn’t been seen in ages, and she had a child. We… had a nice home, and a successful shop, but it was all taken away, we lost it all. Because she..”

“We are quite a pair, us two.”

“Let’s at least go to this party. It was planned for you after all.”

“Nia will see, our…” She waived her fingers softly, brushing them against his skin. A chill ran up her spine at the feel of it.

“Then let her. Because I would like to dance with you, Echo.”

“I would like that very much.” She whispered, just for him, barely audible over the swelling music, and he led her down the stairs.

The room was full of people, all of Venice there to see her and Roan together. He stood on the other side of the room, surrounded by the women of Venice who had always hoped he’d disobey his mother and choose them. She met his eyes over the crowd, and lifted her hand from Bellamy’s to wave and him, the silver of her fingertips easily visible over the heads of the guests.

For the first time in her life, she saw him smile, big and wide. He bent his head, just a little, a nod, an acknowledgement, and acceptance. She took Bellamy’s hand again, and was led out on the to the dance floor.

They danced, close. Hands no quite touching, twirling around one another, so close at times their noses almost brushed, so far apart that the silver of her fingers couldn’t quite brush the tan of his own. Swirling around one another like leaves blowing in the wind. The time came to touch, hands pressed together, close, and she looked up, over his shoulder, the silver of her fingers in her own periphery, to meet Nia’s eyes.

Fury.

That was all that was there.

She knew it was over before it had even begun.

The dance ended, and she kissed him. Because she wasn’t sure if she’d get the chance now. His eyes fluttered, open, and then he closed it, falling into her a little.

The next morning his sister was dead.

Thelonious was killed not two days after, and he was framed for it.

He was beheaded in the square, while she was locked in a room away from it all.

She felt it though.

She felt it the moment he died. Like her heart had been yanked from her chest. She screamed until her voice was gone, and then sobbed until her tears ran dry.

The next night she woke with a knife to her throat.

Ontari.

She fought back, she lunged, she reached blindly for her sword, she pressed herself away from the sharp blade, but to no avail. Everything she knew, Ontari had taught her, but Ontari had not taught her everything. She felt the knife slide down, finding the right spot, and it went dark.

There was no pain.

She wondered if he felt it wherever he was.

She wondered if he was safe.

She was found in a pool of her own blood, a knife in her jugular, silver fingers shining in the bedsheets.


	2. In this life, and in any other.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy makes his way to Salem, Mass. to find his sister, who always seems to get herself into trouble. He meets a barkeep at the local Inn, with soft brown hair and deep brown eyes, and something about her makes him curious. His sister decides to stay, and he can't deny that part of the reason he stays with her is to find out more about the mysterious girl.

He sat, in the back of the carriage taking him towards Salem, Massachusetts, scratching absently at the small, oval shaped birthmarks on his palm. It had been there since his birth, a reminder that in another life, before this one, he had met his soulmate.

He sometimes wondered what they were like. Was he a great knight, tall and broad and strong? Was she a shopkeeper, soft and beautiful? He wondered what their story was. He only had the marks on his palm, just one life with his soulmate.

He thought it was probably not enough. He wondered if his soul had had other lives where he hadn’t found them.

How sad a thought.

The carriage rattled over the rocky road, carrying him towards the city where his sister had last been seen.

Towards the city where witches were burning.

He scratched more aggressively at his palm, and prayed to whatever god there was that Octavia kept her head down, and her mouth shut, until he could find her.

Single women wandering alone were sure to draw attention.

The night grew dark, and they pulled up to a tavern, the lights still flickering inside, and he got out.

“Do you have a spare room for the night?” He asked the woman at the bar, who was pouring glasses of deep red wine.

“ ’t’ll cost you 2 silver coins.” She said, not even looking up. He could smell the wine, and some sort of meat stew wafting from he kitchen, and his stomach growled loudly. “And ’n extra for a meal.”

“Three silver coins for one night and one meal?”

“Two meals, you get breakfast in the morning. More if you stay longer.” she said, very matter of fact, turning to face him.

He tried not to stare, but couldn’t quite help himself.

She was tall, and lithe, her arms and legs long and graceful. Her thick brown hair was tied back into a soft bun, wisps falling around her face, her brown eyes full of something he couldn’t place, like she was waiting for an adventure that hadn’t quite shown up yet. She smirked a little, and he shook his head.

“Fine.” He grumbled, feigning annoyance at her pricing, and slid the coins across the bar.

“Here’s your key,” she said, sliding it back towards him, “room 8, second floor, on your right. Numbers on the door, it’s not hard to find. You can have a seat, Emori will bring you your food.” He would feel slightly dismissed, if her eyes weren’t boring into his face like she was trying to see inside his mind.

“Do you have a name?” He asked, before he could stop himself.

“Not one that you get to know.” She said, twice as quick.

“Right…” he turned to go sit, and then, as if being struck, remembered why he was in this town, paying so much for a room, in the first place. He spun back around. “Have you seen a woman around here lately?” He asked.

“Quite a few. As many as I can, typically.” She teased, and he had to suppress his chuckle.

“She’d be new in town, maybe not more than a month. Brown hair, green eyes, her name is Octavia but I doubt she goes by that here.”

“Sounds sort of familiar but that could sort of be anyone.”

“You guys get a lot of new women travelling solo into this town recently?” He asked, a little under his breath, with accusation laced.

“I wouldn’t go tossing that tone around here. Just because you’re a man doesn’t make you safe.” Her tone was harsh, but not angry. Not at him. It was a warning. A staunch one.

She wasn’t safe, and neither was he.

“Right. Sorry.”

“I think I know your girl. I think she works as a maid for the family up the road, the Kane’s. Wealthy family, the wife died a long time ago, and his kids left, so I think she cleans his house for him.”

“Is she safe?” He asked, almost begging.

“Safe as she can be. Kane’s not in charge of the witch trials, but he’s not trying to stop them either. She seems like she’s keeping her head down, but she should get out of here as soon as she can, and you should go with her.”

“Thank you…”

“Echo. My name is Echo.”

“Bellamy,” he responded. “Thanks Echo.”

She turned back to her work, and he sat to eat, and watched her move in the warm fire light. He couldn’t look away from her, she was mesmerising.

The night wore on, and the he drank before his food came acted fast, leaving him a drowsy level of drunk, so he ate quickly and went upstairs to his room, more aware than he felt like he should be that she was in the building.

He dreamed of her hair, soft and falling over her shoulders in a loose braid.

He woke up wondering about how it would feel beneath his fingers.

He had never been mesmerised by a woman before, not like this.

He shook himself awake, and out of his daze, and went downstairs for breakfast.

A pretty blonde girl brought him his breakfast before disappearing back into the corner to stand very close to a boy with dark hair and soft almond eyes, who seemed bashful when her bright eyes looked at him. He smiled into his porridge and ate quickly, throwing his bag over his shoulder, wrapping his coat around himself, asking the angry looking brunette at the counter where he could find Kane’s house.

“Why should I tell you?” she asked, not looking up from the small gear she was fiddling with, a small metal tool poking around. Her sleeves were burnt at the hems and her fingers looked rough and calloused, her hair tied back tight and her brow furrowed.

“I’m looking for my sister.”

“Up the road, third left, it’s the big blue house. You can’t miss it.” She didn’t look up, and he rolled his eyes. The women who owned this place were intense, and fascinating.

He heard the blonde girl, who had told him her name was Harper when she brought him his food, scold loudly at the girl at the desk. “Raven!” She growled, low and just barely audible, “You have to be more attentive!”

“Oh shut it McIntyre.”

He heard a small scuffle, and a loud “HEY”, followed by a soft giggle, and then he was out of earshot, grinning.

He found the house easy enough, and when he rang the bell, he was greeted by his sisters face.

She did not look pleased.

“ _What_ are you doing here!?” She hissed through her teeth, stepping out onto the stoop and pulling the door closed behind her.

“I came to make sure you were okay. If you haven’t heard, Salem isn’t always safe for women these days.”

The way her eyes darted around told him she knew.

“Then let’s leave.” He whispered. They could run. They could be safe.

He had no idea why Echo’s face appeared in his mind at the suggestion, but he shoved it away.

“I’m settled here Bell, I’m fine.”

“I can’t leave you here alone. If I leave you could…”

“I’ll be fine!” She said through gritted teeth, angry. She hated when he tried to parent her.

“This isn’t me trying to tell you who to be, Octavia. They are burning women alive here, for _witchcraft_. Hanging them from trees. Drowning them. You can’t fight that. It will just come for you, and it’ll be all you can do to die with any dignity at all. I don’t want that for you.”

She was silent, but defiant.

There was no winning.

She was going to stay here.

Which meant he was too.

She kissed him softly on the cheek, and went back inside. He didn’t have to tell her he was staying, she knew.

It was how they were.

How he was.

He would always do this for her.

She would always run away, and he would always find her.

She would always fight back, and he would always stay, to protect her.

In any lifetime, he was sure.

He would die for her, or die trying.

He walked back to the Inn, and found Echo sitting at the bar again. He stopped in the doorway, and watched her.

The sunlight fell over her shoulders, covered in her white cap sleeves, her soft tan skin warm against the fabric. Her hair was in a soft braid, and the image of her from his dreams came back in full force.

Soft. Angelic.

Her hair braided back.

A pink dress.

A sword.

His dreams were always strange but this one…

He couldn’t place it, but it felt…. different.

He approached her and said her name softly, so as not to startle her.

She didn’t flinch, and he realised he was foolish for thinking she was a woman who would startle easily.

“Need more nights here?” She asked, meeting his eyes.

“So you knew she wouldn’t leave with me?”

“She stayed here the first night she came into town. She doesn’t seem like the type.”

“You’re right about that.” He growled under his breath, rubbing his hand over his face. “How much?”

“10 coins a week, or 35 a month.”

“Including dinner?” He said, and it came out more… flirtatious than he had meant it too.

She stared him right in the eyes.

Deep pools of brown, soft in the warm mid day light. Her eyelashes were long, and her cheekbones sharp.

“I’ll include dinner…” She said, with pause.

“For?”

“I’ll ask for something at some point I’m sure. A favour. Just be willing to do it.”

“And if I’m not?”

“Dinner will then require backpay.” She teased, flirtatious right back.

So he stayed. He moved into Room 8, on the left, with the number on the door. He had breakfast from Harper in the mornings, and found work at a local bookshop, and at night, when the sun was down and the air grew crisp with the fall air, he would find himself in the tavern downstairs, drinking an ale, eating his meal, and finding any opportunity to make conversation with Echo.

Sometimes she’d just make small talk, and other times she’d sit and talk with him for hours.

It had been about five weeks when she sat down with him after the last of the bar patrons trailed out into the night, and he was alone in the corner, picking at his bread.

She plopped down across the table from his, turned to the side, propping her legs up on the bench, groaning.

“long night?” He asked, pensive in his own right.

“You should know, you’ve been here the whole time.”

He would have looked sheepish if he hadn’t seen her looking his way every so often.

“Fair point.” Was all he said instead.

She just sat, the fire crackling in the background, her eyes soft and half weary.

“Is it a long way home for you?” He asked. She didn’t live here, he knew that. She was never around in the morning.

“A bit. Maybe half an hours walk?” She said, in a way that made it seem like she’d rather sleep right on the bench than walk that far.

He felt himself become bold, and he wasn’t sure why or how, but he let it take him over.

“Well I have this room, its right upstairs, to the left.” He whispered, low. “Number 8, I was told it was right on the door.”

“I’ve been in that room,” She whispered back, her eyes darkening just a little, “it’s nice. Bed’s fine.”

“And it’s barely a minute walk.” He smiled. “I’m going to go up.”

She nodded, and he stood, leaving her to ponder. He made it all the way into his room, and was down to nothing but his trousers, when there was a knock at the door.

He opened it, to find her standing, almost defiantly.

“That’ll be one silver coin.” He said, leaning against the doorframe.

“For half a bed?” She said, rolling her eyes. She looked at him, her eyes deep wells, dark and full of something lost to his mind. She stepped into the doorframe, so close he could smell the soft sawdust smell from her hair. “How about, instead of that...” She whispered, so close her breath washed over his face, warm, "this is my favour. You let me stay. No backpay for dinner required."

He pretended to mull it over, before nodding solemnly. 

They turned into the room, in tandem, and she got closer, and closer, her nose almost brushed his, closer, and then she brushed her hand against his upper arm.

The light was blinding, so bright he thought the room might catch fire somehow. His arm tingled from where she touched him all the way to the tips of his fingers, and his palm glowed bright. Her fingertips on her right hand shone, and the palm of her left hand was shimmering bright when she pulled it away from his arm.

They stood silent for a moment, eyes wide, in the now dark room. Nothing was different, but suddenly it was all new.

“I dreamt of you the first night we met.” He blurted out, not sure what to say. “You had a pink dress, and a sword? We were dancing, and…. I didn’t remember much of it. But do you thi-“

“I dreamt of you too. You climbed in my window, and we danced… I…”

They stood silent, still only a breath apart. She finally peeled her eyes away from his arm, and her hand, to find his eyes, and they were full of wonder.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he kissed her.

It was soft, and easy, just a gentle pressure of his lips on hers, and she sighed softly, just melting a little into him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, sliding them back down, to slide down his neck, her hands falling into place on his chest, close as can be.

“Soulmates.” She whispered, staring at her own fingertips.

“Did you ever wonder about me?” He whispered.

“All the time.” She was so close, and he wanted to kiss her again, desperately, but he also wanted to _know_ her. He compromised, pressing a kiss into her temple and then resting his forehead against her own.

“What did you wonder?” He asked, pressing.

“Oh,” she said, with a giggle, “so you’re not going to say if you wondered about me?”

He laughed, and she surged up to meet him as he threw his head back just a little, meeting his lips with ease, and with insistence.

He kissed her through his laughter, reaching up to undo her topknot and letting her hair fall around her shoulders, fishing his hand into it to cup the back of her head and pull her close.

The kiss turned heady, heavy and almost desperate, and he walked her back easily towards his bed, until she pressed a hand into his chest.

“I’m so foolish. I can’t stay here. If I’m seen leaving your room I could be-“ She cut off sharply but he knew her worry. He pulled her close, wrapping an arm under hers to pull her into his chest, burying his face into the place where her neck and her shoulder meet, peppering kisses into the soft skin and stroking her back.

“Allow me at least to walk you home.” He whispered, right below her ear, pressed against her jaw.

She shuddered at the feeling, and he heard her sigh, before turning sharply to kiss him again, all full of want.

“We don’t” through the kiss “have to go” she gasped the words out “now.” into the night air.

And with that they tumbled backwards onto his mattress, kissing until their lips were bruised, fumbling over dresses and belts and silly petticoats. He used his hands and his mouth, bringing her over the edge gently, twice, and then he slid into her easily, capturing her gasps between his lips like sweets, the best thing he’d ever tasted.

She was the best thing.

Her soft gasps the best thing he’d ever heard.

Her hands in his hair and her calf pressing into his back to pull him closer the best things he’d ever felt.

Her lips, and her skin, and her heat the best things he’d ever tasted.

He revelled in her.

They stood, a while later, her legs a little shaky, his mind a little dazed, and they dressed. He draped his coat over her shoulders, pulling a smaller one on himself, and he walked her home.

They didn’t hold hands, they barely stood near one another, and to anyones eyes, he was a pilot tavern patron who walked home the barkeep to make sure she was safe.

But they knew.

Her eyes found his at her doorstop, and he nodded, almost a soft bow, and felt like he was floating all the way back into his bed that smelled like her and her sawdust scented hair.

Their worlds melded after that, his days spent surrounded by every part of her life.

He loved it.

They fell in love the way he believed most people did, slowly and then all at once. He spent his days with her, he spent some nights with her. He enveloped himself in her in every way, and he  _loved_ her. He had wondered about soulmates, if they could be real, and maybe he didn't know the answer for everyone, but for him? For them? 

The universe knew exactly what it was doing. 

It had been a few months, when he woke with a start. He could _feel_ her terror.

He flung himself from his bed, yanking on trousers and shoes, and a jacket, racing from his room.

He heard the commotion before he saw it, but he knew.

He felt bile rise into his throat.

Cheering.

Or jeering. He couldn’t be sure.

And loud sobs, screamed through the noise, the only thing he could hear clearly.

He ran.

He came up on the clearing in the woods, following the sound, to a group of women, hands bound.

There she was, in the middle, her hands turned outwards.

The marks.

Bright, glowing silver in the dark, reflecting the light from the flames back into the clearing.

He felt his heart fall into his stomach as he looked at her.

She looked stoic, but he could feel her fear, like it was his own. He acted before he really thought it through.

He raced into the centre of the clearing, stripping his coat from his shoulders and tearing his sleeve open, revealing the white mark on his own arm.

“You know of these marks!!! They are not witchcraft! Have none of you ever had them?!” He called out into the crowd. Echo was gagged, but he heard her trying to scream through it.

“She has poisoned him too! She has used her witchcraft to make him think he must protect her!”

“KILL THE WITCH” The crowd began to chant, angry, louder and louder, and he turned to face her.

She was pleading with her eyes, but not for him to save her.

Run, her eyes said. Get somewhere safe. There is no point in us both dying here.

But he couldn’t make his legs move anywhere but towards her.

He ran to her, grasping her hands, trying to untie the rope.

She was sobbing, muffled screams through the cloth in her mouth, her eyes wide.

He couldn’t get the rope untied.

He couldn’t get her free.

His eyes found hers, and he reached up and undid the gag.

“Go.” She whispered. “I love you, please, run.”

“I can’t just leave you here.” He begged, through his own sobs. “Not like this.”

She reached up with her bound hands, pulling him by his shirt into her, and kissed him softly.

“You can’t stay. They’ll kill you too. You have to go.”

“But you-“

“We found each other in this life, and the last. We will find each other again.”

“I love you in _this_ life, Echo.” He was pleading with her, but the soldiers were yelling now, guns raised. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t want you to see this. I don’t wa-“

Before her words were finished, a shot rang out. It was deafening, and there was a moment of silence before the screams. He wondered who had been hit, and as he turned, he felt everyone’s eyes on him.

He stared down, and saw the hole in his gut.

The bullet had ripped through him.

He spun around, and saw the blood blooming across her stomach.

“No.” He whispered, beginning to feel his own pain.

He collapsed to the ground, and she followed soon after.

He knew they would call no doctor, not that it would help. His insides were on the outsides now, and she was bleeding too much.

Not that they would have saved her anyway.

He reached for her, pulling her in, and somehow, even weakened, he managed to pull the ropes from her hands at last.

“You’re so stupid, why didn’t you go.” She rasped, her voice barely audible above the screams.

He shrugged, unable to speak, and she curled herself into him, kissing his cheek softly, and tucking he face into his neck, sobbing.

He fell unconscious first, but he felt her die. For an instant, he felt his whole world collapse in on itself, even through the haze. He only lasted a minute more, but it felt like eternity. Holding her body, no breath left in it, brought back into consciousness by the feeling of her being ripped away.

In this life, and in any other.

He pressed his face into her, and the last thing he would ever know in this life was the smell of her sawdust scented hair.

 


End file.
